


Bad Day

by Guanin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Aziraphale discovered Crowley hiding in his desk at the bookshop. He opened a drawer and there was Crowley, wrapped up in a tiny, serpent ball, head tucked under his folds.





	Bad Day

Aziraphale discovered Crowley hiding in his desk at the bookshop. He opened a drawer and there was Crowley, wrapped up in a tiny, serpent ball, head tucked under his folds. 

“Now what are you doing here, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, sitting down to regard him with concern. 

Crowley only ever snuck away like this when he was feeling unwell, which could occur at any moment. A year had passed since Armageddon-That-Wasn’t without so much as a whisper from their former head offices or any sort of trouble, so strictly speaking, there was nothing that should be making Crowley sad. Yet it wasn’t so simple. Crowley suffered from a deep melancholy that bubbled up at its leisure, one of many unfortunate aftershocks of being cast out of Heaven. There was no remedy. The most that Aziraphale could do was seek to alleviate its sharp edges as much as possible. 

Lifting his head, Crowley looked at Aziraphale, his tongue flicking out to catch his scent, which comforted him. Crowley had confessed this some months ago, explaining his predilection for snuggling his face into Aziraphale’s neck and breathing in. 

“What can I do, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, extending a hand, palm up in invitation.

With one more tongue flick, Crowley slithered onto Aziraphale’s waiting palm, shrinking enough to fit, and balled himself up again. His head rested atop his body this time, but he seemed no less dejected. He didn’t speak so much as a word. Sorrow gnawed at Aziraphale. If Crowley wasn’t talking, it was worse than Aziraphale thought. 

“Shall I read to you?” Aziraphale asked, injecting desperate cheer in his voice. “Move if you object.”

Crowley didn’t stir.

“Alright,” Aziraphale continued, standing up. “Reading it is. Now, let’s see.”

He ambled among his stacks, searching for something that might cheer Crowley up. Nothing too dramatic. Crowley wasn’t the sort for that even when he was feeling at his best. Histories wouldn’t suit, either. Something comical. A part that Aziraphale could act out to provide a proper show to cheer Crowley up. 

“What would you say to The Hobbit?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley flicked out his tongue, nodding. The motion was so adorable on his tiny body.

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “How about if we skip ahead to chapter two?”

Setting Crowley down on a table, Aziraphale stood before him, book in hand, and acted out the parts of the trolls and Gandalf arguing before the sun came up and turned the trolls to stone. Aziraphale donned different voices while making exaggerated expressions like in the acting of old, complete with slapstick. Crowley watched him attentively the whole time. His head started low atop his body, forlorn, but as Aziraphale kept reading it rose, his attention piqued. When Aziraphale finished, taking a low bow, Crowley slapped the end of his body against the table in a form of applause. 

“You’re alwaysss ssso good at thisss,” Crowley said, sounding pleased.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “Are you feeling better?”

“A bit, thank you.”

But Crowley lowered his head again, tucking himself tight. Oh, no. That wasn’t good. Aziraphale needed to do better. 

“How about an outing?” Aziraphale asked. “You can stay in my pocket. We could go to the park. Or we could watch a play. It’s only one o’clock. There should be an interesting matinee coming up soon.”

Crowley shook his head.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “It will passss.”

Frowning, Aziraphale scooped him up, raising him to eye level.

“But I want to help you. I hate seeing you like this.”

Crowley booped Aziraphale’s nose. 

“I know. It sssuckss to feel it. Jussst sstay with me.”

Crowley wrapped himself around Aziraphale’s upper arm. Aziraphale pet him, stroking all the way along his body.

“Alright, dearest. I’ll keep reading to you. Is that okay?”

“Yesss.”

Aziraphale picked up The Hobbit and sat down in his favorite armchair. Crowley settled in his lap, a little bigger now. They read the rest of the day away, Crowley growing bit by bit.


End file.
